


Slow

by Zetor



Category: Daria (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-26 23:54:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6260923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zetor/pseuds/Zetor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trent has an unlikely encounter after a show.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slow

Trent looked down at the crowd as Mystick spiral finished their set. They'd really been on their game; he'd counted seven people that noticed when they'd stopped playing. Once offstage, he turned to see if his bandmates wanted to get a drink only to see Nick and Max arguing about something again and Jesse walking off with some girl he hoped was eighteen. They really didn't need to deal with that again.

Walking out on the floor, he started to look for Jane before remembering she was already back in Boston. She'd been in school for two years, but he still couldn't get used to it. She'd be done in another two, but he knew she wouldn't be moving back.

He couldn't blame her. She had real talent and Lawndale was a dead end; getting out was the right move. Spiral had been playing in the same couple of places for years without any real change. Sometimes he thought they would break up, sometimes he hoped they would, but it never happened. They all knew they didn't have anything else.

He sat down at the bar and nodded at the bartender. Without asking what he wanted, the man set a cheap beer down in front of Trent.

"Thanks," Trent said, taking a swig and feeling a little warmth spread through his tired body.

"Hey, you're the guy from the band," a girl said from a couple of stools down. From the way she was stretching out all the vowels in her words, Trent figured she must be pretty drunk. Still, he didn't meet many people interested in his music, sober or drunk, so he turned to face her.

She didn't really look like she belonged at the Zōn. She had on an expensive looking light blue top and white skirt that stood out from the dark colors worn by most of the club's regulars. Two strands of long black hair framed an attractive face with delicate Asian features, the rest pulled back into a high ponytail.

Trent got up and moved down to sit next to her. "Hey, I'm Trent. How'd you like our set?" he asked, hoping she hadn't just gotten his attention to tell him he sucked.

"Set? I'm not good at math," the girl said, sounding confused.

Trent chuckled until he started coughing. When he recovered, he said, "Me either. The set's the songs we played."

"Oh," she said in understanding. After thinking for a moment, she answered, "I liked the words."

"Really? Cool. Most people don't get my lyrics," Trent said, taking a long pull from his beer.

"You wrote them?" she asked, sounding impressed.

"Yeah," Trent said. It was mostly true; the guys helped with a rhyme sometimes, but he was the one who came up with the ideas and most of the lyrics.

"Wow, how do you do it?"

Trent was surprised. No one ever wanted to hear about his lyrics. She seemed honestly impressed too. This girl was pretty cool. He started to try to think of a way to explain his process, when he realized something.

"Hey, what's your name?"

"Is that a song?" the girl asked, confused again.

Trent bobbed his head a bit and began to sing to himself. "Hey what's your name? You know you're to blame. You keep playing this game." He paused and looked thoughtful. "It's my soul that you claim. Hmm, maybe."

The girl clapped her hands and smiled. "Wow, you're _so_ talented," she said in her slow, stretched out manner. Trent was starting to wonder if she was drunk or if it was just how she talked; he'd never heard a drunk slur their speech in such a consistent way

"Thanks, but, uh, what _is_ your name? You haven't told me yet."

"Tiffany."

"Cool." Trent looked around, trying to think of something to say, and noticed Tiffany's clothes again. "So, Tiffany, no offense, but what are you doing here?"

Tiffany indicated the colorful mixed drink sitting in front of her. "I'm _drinking_ , duh."

"Oh, right," Trent said, feeling stupid. He started to turn back to his own drink, then said, "No, wait. I meant why are you _here_?"

"Wow, musicians are deep," Tiffany said, impressed.

Trent nodded sagely. "You've got to be deep. Music comes from the soul."

"I thought it came from the instruments."

Trent shook his head and tried to explain, "The instruments are like the channel we pour our souls through."

"Channel? Like the TV?"

Trent thought about it. "More like the remote, letting the TV know what you want."

"Oh, I get it," Tiffany said, nodding.

Remembering his original question, Trent asked, "So, why _did_ you come here tonight?"

Tiffany's shoulders slumped. "I got dumped. He got mad because I'm stupid, so he ditched me here," Tiffany explained, eyes cast down.

Trent couldn't believe someone would just leave a girl like that, especially one like Tiffany. She was so chill and cool, not to mention her looks. "What an idiot," he said without thinking.

"So you think so too," Tiffany said with a sad resignation.

"What?" Trent asked, before he realized what Tiffany was thinking. "No, I meant that guy. What kind of idiot would dump you?"

"So you don't think I'm stupid?" she asked, looking up at him with watery eyes.

Trent covered her hand with his. "No way. You're smart. You get stuff."

Tiffany blushed. "No one's ever called me smart before."

Trent didn't know what to say to that. Luckily, an idea occurred to him. "Hey, do you need a ride home?"

Tiffany dried her eyes with her free hand. "Really?"

"Sure," Trent said with a smile. "You want to get something to eat on the way? I always get hungry after a gig."

Tiffany hesitated a moment, then said, "I guess. I did miss dinner."

The two finished their drinks and paid, before standing up to leave. As they made their way out of the club, Tiffany's hand bumped against Trent's. Trent wrote it off as an accident, but a moment later it happened again, the small hand slipping its fingers between his. The hand intertwined with his felt smooth and delicate, like it would break if he wasn't careful. He gently squeezed it and, out of the corner of his eye, saw a small happy smile form on Tiffany's face. For the first time in a long time, Trent was glad he was in Lawndale.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again,  
> This is a little thing I started writing a _long_ time ago (at least relative to my writing). I finally got around to finishing it a while ago, so here it is. I considered making it longer when I was first writing it, but I think this works as is.  
>  Hope you enjoy. Comment if you feel like it; I always like hearing from you.


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